En Route
by smarty0007
Summary: A series of short walks.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

It was a hot day, too hot. He felt the sun pitilessly beating down on his back, the perspiration crawling down in tiny rivers, as he stood there taking in the view. The moist air whipped through his sandy hair delightfully as he took a deep, satisfying breath of the invigorating salty smell. The surfer's scrupulously polished board sparkled in the sun, hungry for contact with the roaring, crashing waves. He could faintly hear the sound from a little way down the beach, the rhythmic pulsing of the angry waves on the far cliffs.

Those waves never did know when to stop. They hopelessly pounded on those powerful black cliffs, ever trying to knock them out of their path, but to no avail. He marveled at those stubborn waves. They reminded him of something... It was so vague that he couldn't really place his finger on it, but he had other things in mind right now.

The surfer shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and sprinted out to the awaiting incoming tide. His board happily steered through the crystal blue, cool water, speeding him on his way to that distant bulge gathering far out beyond the rip-tide. An awesome swell-his heart rejoiced. Turning on a dime, he began paddling back towards the shore and waited for just the right moment-then he was flying, slicing through the giant wave like an eagle through the clouds. The water sprayed up into columns of mist around him. He liked this wave. He loved the ocean, but this wave in particular sent the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Why couldn't all waves be like this all the time, instead of turning towards those tall black cliffs, wasting meaningless effort in trying to destroy them?

The crashing was getting louder, almost deafening. Throbbing. Why were the waves so loud? His eardrums were going to burst! Why-

HEY ARNOLD! HEY ARNOLD! HEY ARNOLD! HEY ARNOLD! HEY ARN-

-did he have to wake up? "Ummph," Arnold grunted sleepily and struggled to sit up on the edge of his bed. Monday, the first day of school. The first day of senior year of high school. And it was still blazing outside! Was it just him, or did the school system push back the summer break a week each year?

"_This is your cool jazz station. Today's high is a steamy 105 degrees. Break out that suntan lotion and some shades—autumn missed the memo."_

Luckily, Arnold was born with the rare gift of being able to wake up very early, even earlier than the restless, bathroom-hungry borders. He peeled his damp t-shirt off his sun-kissed shoulders and padded down the narrow stairway from his room to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he was toweling off his wild blonde hair, which smelled of a mysteriously fragrant shampoo, after a refreshing shower. On his way back up, he could faintly hear the stirrings of the boarders on their trek to the bathroom:

"Thirteen boarders-one bathroom! Sheesh! Hey, Oskar, you find out where the old man hides that key yet?"

"I'll bet it's hanging around his neck on a chain. Heh, heh."

Chuckling to himself, Arnold pictured his Grandpa fighting doggedly to the death to keep the whereabouts of the spare bathroom's key safe.

Arnold could feel the intense heat of the sun already pounding down from the skylight. His normal jeans, flannel shirt, and sweatshirt definitely would mean torture in this weather. He rummaged through his closet and grudgingly pulled on some old shorts and a t-shirt. He found a red plaid short-sleeved shirt, pulled it on, and left it unbuttoned. Suddenly remembering that something was missing, he looked to his shelf where his little blue hat was waiting for him.

Arnold couldn't remember a day without wearing his hat, save the day after the wind carried it away. He'd been lost without it, until Helga had shown up, her dress and hair completely filthy, holding his hat cupped in her hands. How she had found it, nobody knew, but Arnold was too overjoyed to see his hat to wonder about it. After a minute of thinking the matter over, Arnold decided not to fight the impulse to wear it. Everyone he knew accepted his hat as a part of himself; his classmates didn't care.

Glancing at the clock built into the wall of his unique room, Arnold realized that he'd have to grab a piece of toast and go if he was going to catch the bus on time. He frantically searched his room for anything else that deserved a rightful place in his back pack, and discovering nothing, he slung the bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

"ABNER!" A large pink blur skidded around the end of the banister and hurried painstakingly up the stairs after one of Grandma's black cats, sending Arnold stumbling towards the bottom.

"Mornin' Shortman!" cackled a familiar voice. "Better hurry, or you'll be late for school. Oooh, I'd talk longer but I'm off to the Office!" his stomach gurgled. "Your Grandma switched the strawberry and raspberry jam labels again..."

"Morning, Grandpa." Arnold scrambled up from the floor, checking to see if he had suffered any major damage. Other than a small scrape on his knee, everything seemed okay, so Arnold once again picked up his bag and jogged into the kitchen.

"HOYYYAAAHH!" Watermelon seeds barely missed Arnold's face and splattered on the kitchen wall. Arnold's Grandma, decked out in her usual karate garb and surrounded by a mess of stringy pink remains, pressed her pink-stained hands together and bowed. "Greetings, Grasshopper. May I interest you in some watermelon?"

"No thanks, Grandma. I'm almost late for the bus. I'll just grab a piece of toast and head out."

"Have it your way. You don't know what you're missin'!" The old woman leaped up on the rickety kitchen table with surprising agility and tossed a huge watermelon up in the air. Arnold raised his hands over his face to protect himself as his Grandma's heel loudly came in contact with the green projectile. "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYUAAAH!" SPLLLATTT. Arnold sighed as he waited what seemed like an eternity as his toast took its good time popping up from the toaster.

Uh oh... Arnold groaned softly to himself as a blue blur thundered past the boarding house, leaving a dusty cloud trailing behind it. He hadn't saved enough to buy a quality bike chain to replace the one he broke last week. "Great, guess I'm walking then..." He didn't really enjoy the prospect of showing up late on the first day of school.

"Have a good first day, Arnold. HYUUHHCHAA!"

"Bye Grandma." After the last of a stampede of animals scurried through the door, he closed it with a snap behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

Arnold didn't live too far away from the high school, but even with a manageable walk he was doomed to the late summer heat already creeping into the morning.

Up ahead he saw a familiar figure walking on the same route. He took in her blond hair, tied up in loose pigtails. _Helga_. Should he catch up to her? He didn't know if she'd welcome his presence. It was hit or miss with Helga—most of the time, she was in a bad mood due to something or other, and only half of the bad moods were available for discussion. The other half were the moods he inspired when he caught her off-guard, either by inadvertently and literally running into her, or just by walking up and surprising her. Usually it was when she was leaning over the railing of the park bridge in one of those rare reflective moments he seemed solely privy to.

_Why not_? He had a fifty-fifty shot. He picked up his pace a little, finally trotting the last few steps to close the gap between them, and called out, "Hey Helga! Wait up!"

She turned around, eyes wide and obviously surprised to see him. As suddenly as the openness in her face appeared, it was replaced with a narrow look of suspicion. "How long have you been following me?"

"Good morning to you too, Helga…" Arnold rolled his eyes and fell into step on the sidewalk beside her. His breathing was slightly ragged from catching up to her, but he quickly recovered. "You excited for the first day back?"

"Hmph. Do you not recall, Arnoldo, that merely just yesterday I stated quite plainly at practice that I '_hate the halls of P.S. 218 and all those who are doomed to traverse them'_—"

"Including yourself?"

"Shut up."

"It's a relevant question."

She snorted and kept walking, face pointed straight ahead and shoulder bag swinging lightly against her hip.

Arnold shifted his bag to the other shoulder and sighed. Maybe this was one of the _miss_ days. However, he boldly continued, "Maybe it won't be so bad. You know, new year, fresh start?"

"What do you mean, 'maybe it won't be so bad?' Ha," she mirthlessly laughed. "Always looking on the bright side. This year is going to not only bite—on top of all the usual junk, we've got college applications."

"So? I've been under the impression that you're top of our class, Helga." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, apart from Phoebe, obviously." Here she almost smiled. "What have you got to worry about?"

"Arnold. Arnold, Arnold, Arnold." And here she actually paused to turn towards him squarely and shake her head as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You have no _idea_ what it is like to live with Big Bob Pataki, Olga's number one fan. This year is going to be _hell_."

Arnold sighed again. He couldn't come up with anything good to say to her, so he shrugged and offered what he hoped was a consoling sort of smile. Helga shook her head again and withdrew her hand to look down at her watch. "Welp, Football-head, we're already late. So much for the 'fresh start.'"

Arnold realized with a jolt that they had been standing at the base of the steps to the school. He blinked and turned to follow Helga, who was already at the double doors. _Yeah, fresh start._ For some reason he couldn't quite place, he didn't mind so much that they were late.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

Over the next few weeks, Arnold found he was walking to school much more often. If he were honest with himself, he would have admitted that it wasn't a personal pollution protest by boycotting the city bus, nor that it was an effort to increase his daily exercise. He had plenty of that at Gerald Field and at the basketball court after school.

No, if he were truly honest with himself, he had established a routine of sorts that revolved around none other than Helga G. Pataki. He couldn't explain to himself why he looked forward so much to these walks with her to school. Sure, she seemed to tolerate him, but that wasn't necessarily a cause for celebration. And yes, she was pretty funny, when she wanted to be, when he managed to find her in a relaxed state of mind. Sometimes he was even able to coax it out of her himself if he tried hard enough.

Yes, that was probably it. It was a challenge—a challenge for him to find that funny, interesting side of Helga and bring it out of her. The longer he kept that side of Helga hovering at the surface, the bigger the high he got from it. Sometimes it was exhilarating, especially on those days she was noticeably glum at the start of their usual planned-to-be-unplanned walk.

"Hey Helga. Happy Friday." He greeted her as he caught up to her on a particularly windy day. He noticed her hair was tied up with a ribbon in a single ponytail, which was currently being whipped around by the wind, and it sent a weird feeling spiraling through him. _So what, her hair looks different. Why does that bother you_?

"Oh yeah? What's so happy about it? We have a huge math test today, remember?"

"Sure I remember. You were the one who leant me these notes, weren't you?" He casually reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of purple-inked papers. "Thanks again. I especially enjoyed the elaborate illustration of our math teacher getting mauled by a giant bear. You really are a Renaissance woman."

A slightly more high-pitched nervous laugh than her usual style escaped from Helga's mouth, and she snatched the notes out of his hand. She quickly resumed her normal tone, however, and said, "Don't say I didn't do you any favors."

Helga quickly stuffed a handful of the notes into her bag, her face turned mysteriously away from him, but in her hurry she dropped a few pages to the ground. The wind playfully chose to churn up a huge gust at that precise moment and Arnold found himself tearing up the street after the several escapees. When he turned around to head back to Helga, he could have sworn for a split second that she had been standing there, watching him with a quiet smile. But he blinked and it was gone. Now she was just strolling coolly up the sidewalk as if she had been doing it the whole time, her arms extended over her head and her attention directed towards tying her escaping hair more securely in its bow.

Later at lunch, Gerald caught him staring in the direction of one of the other tables in the cafeteria. "Man, Arnold, what's gotten into you?"

"Huh? What're you talking about Gerald?" Arnold felt his face beginning to flush and wished he could duck down under the table.

"If I didn't know any better, and _believe me_, I do—I'd say you were crushin' on a girl. You've got that weird, dreamy look all over your face, man."

"Yeah, Arnold," Stinky piped up next to Gerald. He bit into a cheese sandwich, but kept talking through the mouthful, "You're plain smitten, I reckon."

"Ooooooh, who is she, Arrrrnold?" Harold started to laugh obnoxiously before stuffing half a bag of chips into his mouth.

Sid pointed at Arnold emphatically. "You know it's true, look at him turning all red!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, guys." He looked down at his half-eaten bowl of tapioca pudding and willed himself to mechanically finish it. Gerald accompanied him to deposit their trays on the slow-moving conveyor and waited until they were in the deserted hallway.

"Sorry Arnold, the last thing I wanted to do was get the other guys in on it. C'mon, you can tell me who it is."

"I already told you, I don't know what you're talking about, Gerald!" Arnold walked off in the direction of his locker.

Gerald was not to be deterred so easily. He knew his best friend too well. "Well if you say so." He stopped next to Arnold and leaned against the adjacent locker. He held up his hand and glanced nonchalantly at his fingernails before prompting, "But if you ask me, I'd say you've been daydreaming about a certain tall blond we all know and love."

There was a long pause.

"Shut up, Gerald."

Gerald smirked and rolled his eyes. No matter how much he hated to admit it, Phoebe was always right. So much for that bet…

"Don't worry, Arnold. Your secret's safe with me."

Something within Arnold seemed to give, and then he could only look pleadingly at his best friend and whisper, "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah, man." There it was. It was final.

"What do I do?"

Gerald noticed the desperation in his friend's eyes, and it took him a great effort not to burst out laughing. He said with the straightest face he could manage, "According to the law of the Happenin' Dude, just go with the flow." He clapped his friend reassuringly on the back and walked with him to their math class.

Gerald glanced over his shoulder as the first bell rang and caught Phoebe's eye just as she was walking through the double doors, slightly in front of Helga. He widened his eyes meaningfully at her and shook his head, jerking a thumb in the direction of his best friend. He watched as a slow grin spread brightly across her petite face. His best friend was a goner.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

"So then Bob yells, 'Hey Miriam! Get your keister off the couch and help me carry this stupid thing down the stairs!' and the next thing I know, he's on the way to Hillwood Medical in an ambulance."

Helga, despite her normally hardened exterior, reached the end of her story with a barely perceptible note of uneasiness in her voice. "Oh yeah, and that's the reason I wasn't at practice. I thought Phoebe told you guys. Guess not." She drew her jacket tightly around herself and dug her chin into her collar.

Arnold shuffled along through the dead leaves beside her in disbelief. "But he's going to be okay though, right?"

Helga barked out a laugh, which didn't do much to relieve Arnold's sudden worry. "Yeah, he's really lucky—it's about as minor a break as it can be, and he gets to watch The Wheel _non-stop_ until he's healed. Which, if you know Big Bob, can get drawn out to the point of oblivion. When he threw his back out, _Miriam_ had enough time to essentially take over the company while he was holed up watching soaps."

"Wow, Helga." He gazed up into the steely sky and reflected. "I don't know what I'd do if my grandma or grandpa got hurt like that… you're pretty brave for what you did."

"Most people know from age three to call 9-1-1 when somebody trips down the stairs. It's not exactly rocket science." Helga scoffed as she placed a well-aimed kick at an empty aluminum can in their path. It rattled off into a dark gutter.

"But you said your mom was hysterical. If you hadn't stayed calm, it could've been a whole lot worse," Arnold pointed out.

"I guess…." Her voice was smaller and quieter. Arnold was in dangerous territory.

"But are _you_ okay?"

"_I'm_ not the one with the broken neck."

"I know, but it's still your dad."

"If I told you I'm kind of glad it happened, what would you think of me now?" She narrowed her eyes.

"You don't really mean that."

"Oh, but do I?" The resentment dripped off her words and seared the ground.

"No. The Helga I know, deep down, would have been pretty scared and upset." Arnold stopped walking and looked at her directly. "Because _that_ Helga loves her dad."

She jabbed a finger at him. "What do you know? Like _he_ ever returned the favor…" Her voice was tenuous.

"Your parents love you Helga, they just don't know how to show it sometimes—"

But it was too late for her to hold it in, and eventually, after she had unburied her face from Arnold's neck and released her hold on his jacket, she swiftly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"This moment." She sniffed. "It never happened. Got it?"

There was the slightest moment of silence.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"It better stay that way."

"Helga?"

She was already at the foot of the school steps, her composure almost back to normal, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"It's okay, you know." And he was glad she allowed him to pat her awkwardly on the arm. "Everything's going to turn out okay."

She sighed. "Yeah."

She let him hold open the door for her and stepped inside.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

It was a beautiful, wintry kind of day. The icy blue sky was dotted with tiny wispy clouds, and the sunlight sparkled off the frost covering the parked cars along the street. Arnold and Helga pushed along through the snow drifts covering the sidewalk. They took turns leading the way through narrow spots, neither bothering with any ceremony about it.

"Maybe I'll go into photojournalism." Arnold mused, partly to himself, and partly to his companion. He walked with his gloved hands deep in his pockets to keep out the cold. "I don't know, I really like editing the school paper. I could see it becoming a job one day. Don't you think it would be fun to travel the world and see everything?"

Helga coughed. "Sure, if you like boring, documentary stuff."

"Truth is almost always stranger and more interesting than fiction, Helga."

"I'll give you an out this time and will condescend to agree to disagree," Helga said loftily.

"Why, Helga. How very _sophisticated_ of you." Arnold grinned slyly. He noticed Helga's face slide into a look of uneasiness. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was _nervous_. Knowing that suddenly made _him_ feel nervous, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "So, have you applied anywhere yet?"

"Remember when I said this semester was going to be hell?" she asked.

Arnold nodded. "Yeah?"

"Turns out, it's worse than hell. It's worse than Thanksgiving at Simmons's house." Helga threw her hands up in the air to emphasize the magnitude of the problem.

Arnold gasped in mock horror. "_No_!"

"I'm serious. Regular Bob is insane. Invalid Bob sits next to _Olga's_ trophy shelf all day, ruminating about 'the competition,' essay topics—you name it, he's yelling about it. I've already applied to practically fifteen colleges. And we're not even at the interview rounds yet." Helga groaned in agony. Her warm breath floated away behind them. "Oh yeah, and _Miriam_ still thinks I'm twelve so it hasn't occurred to her yet that I'll be out of the house soon."

"Fifteen schools? Wow, Helga… I've only applied to a couple."

"Well, yeah." She put on her best imitation of her dad, "'_Winners, little lady, know how to play the odds._'" She punctuated every other word with a poke of her finger into the air in front of her.

"But you could get in wherever you want." Arnold stated, sensibly.

"You got that right, pal."

Arnold persisted. "Then why not just apply to your favorites?"

"Big Bob wants me to go into law. He probably won't pay for it if I did something else." Helga scowled and scuffed her feet on the sidewalk.

"But what do _you_ want to do?" Imagining Helga as an adult person with a job was more bizarre than imagining himself in the same situation. He turned curiously towards her as the quietness drew on, expectant.

Helga had that shifty look she sometimes got when she was backed into a corner. "You won't believe me."

"Try me." The school was quickly approaching—Arnold furtively adjusted his pace one notch slower, hoping Helga wouldn't notice.

She mumbled something inaudible.

"Couldn't hear that, Helga."

In the smallest possible voice, "I want to write… stuff."

"Huh?"

"Books, poetry, the whole nine yards. Like that'll ever happen…"

"Really? That's great!" Arnold completely ignored her negativity and beamed at her. "Why don't you try to get a scholarship?"

"Doi, that's what all the stupid interviews are for—"

"No, I mean for writing." Arnold said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It'd be win-win situation—you can do what you want and your dad won't get the chance to refuse to pay for it."

"Ha, get a load of this:" Helga made a wide dramatic sweep of her arm. "_Desperate high school kid wants to go to a four-year university so she can aspire to be a starving writer_. Where do you find a scholarship for one of those?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe in something like this?" Arnold pulled out a flyer from his bag that they had been given in his art class the day before. An intimidating list of scholarships for activities ranging from music performance to community service to language arts covered the page. He pointed one out—"This one looks like something straight up your alley."

Helga squinted at it in deep mistrust.

"Come on, Helga. What've you got to lose?" Arnold tilted his head to one side and gave her the look that he had used last weekend to convince her to come with the gang to see "Evil Twin VII." He found he enjoyed using this newfound power whenever he got the chance.

Helga grumbled a "Fine" and snatched the flyer out of his hand. "Whatever floats your boat, Hair-Boy."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

Helga reached up to pull off her old catcher's mask and rubbed her face with the back of her forearm. Arnold liked to imagine she believed it held some sort of magic or luck in it—she'd had it since before he could remember. She shook her head and her hair came loose, large sections matted down in places and many wisps of it straggling in a cloud around her face. Arnold sat nearby on the bleachers, drinking some water and watching her absentmindedly. It was getting warmer every day, but once the sun went down it became chilly.

Gerald walked by and looked at his friend, shook his head, and kept walking. Arnold was a bold dude.

Helga was mumbling something along the lines of "criminy" and "are you _kidding_ me" as she impatiently detangled her hair with her fingers.

Arnold asked before he knew what he was saying. "Want me to walk you home?" Most of their friends were wandering out of Gerald Field on their various routes home. The sunlight was fading quickly—spring was on its way but it still got dark pretty early.

"Yeesh, Arnoldo, I know where I live now." Helga rolled her eyes, albeit good-naturedly. "I only had amnesia for a d—a couple days, not _years_." She brushed past him towards the street.

"You know what I meant," Arnold was in the middle of his response before his brain caught up to Helga's slight discrepancy. _Only one day?_ He remembered he'd walked her home then, too. _So that's how she wants to play…_ Arnold decided right then that Helga had been fond of his company much longer than he more recently supposed.

"You live in the opposite direction from me. Why could you possibly want to walk me home?" They were already walking towards her house.

"What's so weird about me wanting to walk you home?" Arnold countered her question with another. The street lights were blinking on.

"Gee, maybe because I _bug_ you all the time?" Her use of that word stung slightly. That's the word he used to complain about her to Gerald back when they were younger.

He smiled awkwardly. "You don't bug me _that_ much."

"Really, huh?" Helga raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure didn't seem so high-and-mighty during the game." She lowered her voice, "_Mickey Kaline wannabe._"

The sharp annoyance Arnold had felt at bat flared up again. "Hey, I've been working on that! And it's not _my_ fault Harold is… well, Harold."

"Newsflash, bucko. You're a butt-wiggler."

Arnold mouthed soundlessly for a moment, aghast. "Am not!"

"Are too! Why else would Pink-Boy be yelling at you the whole time, '_Loooooook, I'm Arrrrrnuuulld, the butt-wiggler!'_" Helga jumped into the empty street and did an eerily accurate impersonation of Harold's immensely poor imitation of Arnold's batting stance.

Arnold had to laugh—Helga's hearty laughter was too contagious. "It can't be as bad as Harold does it. Why don't you just show me what it really looks like?"

The air seemed to turn solid. Helga abruptly stopped shaking random parts of her body and froze, her back towards him, shoulders shrugged up into a flinch. Arnold blinked, at a loss for how to recover.

Her face snapped around, "How would _I_ know what you're doing?" She looked like she was thinking fast. "I'm watching the ball. And, unfortunately, I also have to witness the buffoon that is Harold Berman trying to communicate his deep and complicated observations to us all."

"Sure, Helga. That's probably what you're doing."

"What do you mean, 'probably?' Don't flatter yourself," Helga crossed her arms, stuck her nose in the air, and walked back onto the sidewalk as bright headlights approached. A bus whizzed by and barreled off into the night behind them.

Arnold dropped the subject with a casual "whatever" and grinned to himself when she wasn't looking.

There were Helga's steps up ahead. Helga was either too embarrassed or had run out of sarcastic wit to throw at him—she turned and started up her stairs as soon as they arrived. Arnold stood there, looking at her door like it was a puzzle he didn't know how to solve. Then he finally voiced what they had always kept unspoken between them. "See you tomorrow on the way to school?" Now they couldn't pretend like they happened to simply run into each other every day.

Helga stopped, her hand on the door handle, and turned back to look at him. Her face was unreadable. Arnold wasn't used to her looking so _normal_. "Yeah, see you tomorrow." He heard, _yes, I'll wait for you_.

He smiled softly at her. She turned back to go inside.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

The boarding house was very quiet that particular morning. None of the noises that usually emanated from its windows could be heard from the street. There was a sudden sharp rapping on the door.

"Coming, coming," Phil opened the door and, to his surprise, there stood an apprehensive-looking Helga. Hopefully this time she wasn't scheming one of those harebrained plots to get inside—hilarious as he and his wife found them to be, he had enough to worry about with Arnold today.

"Ah, it's Arnold's little blond friend. You must be looking for him, I suppose." Phil sighed, "Well come on in. He's here, but I don't think he'll be going to school today." Phil shook his head sadly.

"Huh? He sick or something?" Helga crossed her arms doggedly on the stoop.

"Well," Phil rubbed the back of his neck, "you see—"

"Oh hello there, Eleanor!" Gertie popped her head around the door frame. She was carrying a small bundle of something wrapped in a napkin. "Here," she covertly pressed it into Helga's hands. "You'll be needing this to keep the troops strong!" Helga could only stand there, bewildered.

"Hey Helga, sorry I'm late." Arnold appeared over the top of the staircase, bag in tow. His face was tired.

Before Helga could say anything Arnold's grandpa turned to him and said, "It's okay Arnold, you don't have to go to school today—"

"I'll be fine Grandpa."

"Okay… if you're sure. Have a good day Shortman."

Helga shrugged and followed Arnold down the steps, still carrying whatever it was that Arnold's Grandma had given her. The door closed softly behind them.

"Man Arnoldo, what's the deal? Who died?"

Arnold's shoulders flinched, and he stopped walking. He let out a long breath and slumped where he stood.

"Criminy Arnold!" he heard her take a big step towards him. "I'm sor—"

"No, Helga. It's okay—you didn't know. It's… it's Abner. He—it happened last night." Arnold felt a hand land lightly on his shoulder. He sniffed and tried to hold himself together. "I mean, I knew he was getting older but..." he trailed off.

"I'm sorry, Arnold." Helga's hand was still there, warm. "He had a long life. Maybe… maybe it was just his time, you know?"

"Yeah." Arnold stood up straighter. "I think I gave him a good life."

"'Course you gave him a good life." Helga's matter-of-factness cut through his sadness a little. "You spoiled that pig, Arnold. You saved him from that old windbag Smyth-Higgins, you took him on your vacations… You rolled in _garbage_ for that pig."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Arnold almost chuckled, remembering. He stood there for a second longer before placing his hand over top of hers. Helga's fingers twitched and he felt a jolt run through him.

"You gonna be okay Arnold?" Arnold wasn't used to her voice being so gentle.

"Yeah." Her hand was suddenly gone. Arnold sighed and started their journey down the sidewalk. "So what's in the napkin?"

"Huh?" Helga stared blankly down at the limp bundle hanging from her hand. "Oh yeah, your Grandma gave it to me. Said some junk about the war or something." She opened it up. "Looks like breakfast."

She casually tossed Arnold a piece of toast as they set off together towards school.

Arnold closed his eyes for a moment and let the sun warm his face. He realized he felt peaceful. "Thanks Helga."

"What for?" Her mouth was already crammed full of toast.

He didn't care if it sounded sappy; he truly meant it. "For being there for me."

"Tell ya what, 'cause I like ya, you get this session for free. Next time I charge full price." She nudged his arm with her elbow.

"Sure. Hand me another piece of toast before you eat it all."

"You're going to get it Arnold."

"Oh? I'm going to get some toast? Why, thank you Helga."

They continued to banter in this way for a while.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

Helga was leaning against her stoop, ankles crossed and one foot jiggling impatiently. As Arnold walked up the sidewalk, he noticed she was wearing a black t-shirt splashed with a violent scene from a cage match instead of her usual pink. Arnold smiled. So she and her dad had gone together after all.

"Hurry up, we're going to be late." She pointed meaningfully at her watch and turned to head towards the school.

"How was Wrestlemania, Hegla? Did you and your dad have a good time?" Arnold had to lengthen his stride in order to keep up with her brisk pace.

"Yeah. Finally, something we could enjoy yelling at and actually enjoy at the same time." Her voice was bright and excited. It was nice to hear so early in the morning.

But Arnold was puzzled by her convoluted statement. "I don't get it."

"Fine, listen up because I'm only going to tell you this once." Helga rarely ever shared personal stories about her past—Arnold's attention was hooked. "A long time ago, probably around fourth grade, I really wanted to go to Wrestlemania. Like it was the only thing that was keeping me sane. But Phoebe couldn't get tickets. And Bob was practically ruining my life—" she expressed the magnitude of her anxiety with upturned palms, "—Miriam was out of town so Bob seemed to think we were supposed to be 'bonding.' He took me on all these ridiculous errands—"

"That doesn't seem so bad—" Arnold interrupted.

"Arnold. My dad tried to buy me strawberries. He didn't even remember I'm _allergic_ to _strawberries_."

"Oh." Everyone in Arnold's class knew of Helga's allergy to strawberries. However, it helped that Helga's intensely passionate reactions in the presence of the deadly fruit made it quite obvious. Just last year she had viscerally swatted an entire box out of the classroom window when an innocent Sheena passed them to her in an effort to share.

"Anyway, my dad," Helga continued drily, "in one of his rare feats of trying to be a real parent, snuck into my room and found an ad I'd torn out of a magazine. Turns out he looked at the wrong side and thought I wanted to go see that stupid musical about rats. He found tickets for it and everything and didn't tell me where we were going until we got there, like it was some big surprise." Helga shuddered. "If there's anything I can't stand, it's rats…"

"So wait a minute, your dad did something just for you because he wanted to make you feel special?" Arnold carefully looked at her.

"Heck if I know what he wanted me to feel like. Maybe he finally snapped from Miriam being gone so long. All I do know is we had a good time laughing at how stupid it was. Last I checked, yesterday was probably the first time since then that we've gotten along so well." Helga cast her eyes around, looking for something that eluded her. Not finding it, they landed on the sidewalk.

Arnold considered her story for a second. To be so _lost_ a child as Helga must have felt wasn't such a completely foreign idea to him. He had had times where he felt empty and confused about everything, but despite his parents being gone almost since before he could remember, his grandparents always tried to make sure he was okay. Helga was the opposite—even though she complained about it endlessly, she was the glue that held her family together. They were pretty lucky to have her.

"That's really nice Helga." He wanted to tell her how important she was.

"Yeah, yeah. When it rolls around next year I'll let you know if he keeps his word to make it an annual tradition."

"Really, he said that?" _Next year. She was planning on telling him about it a year from now_. Arnold tried to imagine how that would work.

"Yep, if you can believe it. Apparently the old man likes wrestling as much as I do. But don't hold your breath—maybe he has to have a near-death experience a couple months before in order for it to happen." She sighed, "One can only hope…"

"Helga!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Helga…"

"What?"

"Maybe…" he tried to go about it delicately. "Maybe it's a sign that things're getting, you know, better? Like between you… and your dad…" Arnold trailed off.

"I see—you want to rub it in that your I-told-you-so-do-goody-wisdom is showing signs of coming true. Okay, if you really need an ego boost today—" Helga raised her arms over her head and brought them down in a grand gesture of mock worship, "—all hail Saint Arnold, the bastion of hope, the champion of the downtrodden, the angel of—" she was suddenly stopped short.

Arnold, in his embarrassment and haste to make her stop, had grabbed Helga impulsively by both wrists.

Helga stood there, dumbstruck.

Arnold pulled away as if his hands were on fire and tried to recover. He jammed his hands into his pockets and forced himself to keep walking. "You know, I'm not perfect. Everybody seems to think I'm some kind of person who, I don't know, has great moral character or something. But that's a lot of pressure to put on a guy, and I have my own problems. So just… I just wanted to say that your family is lucky to have you, okay?" His mind was reeling.

Helga couldn't seem to speak for a while. At last, "Sorry. I was just joking."

"I know, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's a pain. I get it. Don't you realize that I have to deal with the same exact thing every day?" Helga squinted.

"No you don't—"

"Arnold. Look at my reputation. Do you think I'm really such a terrible person as everybody thinks I am? Man, you think _you've_ got pressure. You don't have to _do_ anything in order to fulfill your do-gooder requirements. Me!" She stuck a thumb into her chest, "I've got to work hard to keep up appearances."

"But _why_ would you want everybody to assume the worst about you?"

"Think about it. First, we already have a resident do-gooder. That's you." Helga poked Arnold in the shoulder. "There's got to be balance. Second, it's fun to be bad. Just try it one day."

"Oh, I don't know, Helga. I don't think I can do that."

"Wh—come back here you little twerp!"

Arnold had grabbed the end of the ribbon she had tied in her hair that morning and sprinted away, pulling it free of her hair and along with him down the street. The talisman shone in the bright sunlight as it whipped along like a flag at sea.

Helga chased him up the school steps and didn't tackle him until they'd burst through the double doors.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

"Arnold. You're staring. Quit it."

"Sorry," he shrugged. "You look nice. Deal with it."

"So this is how it's gonna be the whole night, huh?" Helga raised an eyebrow.

"No comment."

"Whatever."

After a few seconds of quiet reflection, "Hey, Helga?"

"What?" She was walking her usual foot-and-a-half's distance from him. The last rays of the sun were sinking behind the horizon and catching the loose strands of her light hair. It was going to be a beautiful night.

"I'm glad you're going with me."

"Least I could do." She deadpanned. "Without you meddling in my personal life, I'd never had gotten that scholarship."

Arnold sighed and shook his head, but smiled all the same. "Don't mention it."

The limousine the rest of the gang had rented sped past, waving arms and yelling faces poking out at random angles to acknowledge the couple on their way to the school. A few lewd comments and catcalls hung on the air. "Criminy!" Helga suddenly raised her arms over her head and almost swung a bright pink heel straight into Arnold's face. "Wouldja get a load of those goons?" Helga thankfully dropped her arms to her sides. "I appreciate the flip-flops, but remind me again why we are walking there…"

"Because this is how I enjoy your company most, Helga," came Arnold's soft reply.

"Oh really? And how's that?"

"When it's just you and me, being ourselves." Arnold rubbed his arm, watching the limo fade away in the distance. "Or really, when it's you being yourself because there's nobody else around."

"Hmph. Who's to say I'm not myself in public but putting on a sham when I'm just with you?" She crossed her arms over her satin gown and smirked, thinking she had him.

"Your logic is astounding. But, no."

"Why not?" Helga slid her hands bossily to her hips.

"You know the reason," he kept walking and she could only follow.

"Nope, can't think of a thing."

And then he reached out to catch up her hand in his own.

That shut her up for the rest of the way there. Arnold hadn't seen Helga smile like that in a long time.

Later that night, Phoebe tapped Gerald hastily on the shoulder and pointed somewhere behind him. The two forgot that they were supposed to be dancing as they gazed open-mouthed, along with quite a few of their classmates, across the brightly decorated gym as Arnold effortlessly twirled Helga into an insanely deep dip before kissing her right on the mouth. Over at the refreshment table, Stinky absently ladled too much punch into his glass and didn't notice as it splashed onto the floor and all over his shoes. Harold and Sid, rarely lost for words, stood dumbfounded.

The live jazz band belted out its fast-paced tune. Neither Arnold nor Helga seemed to notice all their friends gaping at them shamelessly in wonder. They danced on fiercely, too stubborn to let the other lead for long.

"Now I've seen _everything_," Phoebe heard Rhonda whispering behind them.

Lila mused back, "I had a funny feeling this would happen."

Sheena agreed. So did Eugene. The general consensus seemed to be that they had all known all along, and eventually even Rhonda started championing it as if it were her own idea in the first place—"Well they _were_ Romeo and Juliet together when we were all children so it _must_ be fate…"

The senior prom then resumed as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!

Gerald pointed with his free hand to a place somewhere off behind the row of trees in the distance.

Phoebe squinted in the general direction and could barely make out a pair of people. She squeezed Gerald's hand with her own. "It's about time."

It was a beautiful day at the park, and summer was pushing its way in through the leaves.

"Phoebe, you amaze me sometimes."

"Would you care to elaborate, Gerald?"

"Of all of us, _you're_ the one who knew about this the longest but didn't do anything about it."

"Au contraire, mon amour."

"Now you're speakin' my language. Go on, enlighten me."

"I suppose Helga and Arnold were the ones who knew about it the longest but refrained from any action due to certain deeply ingrained insecurities and, for lack of a more adequate term, classic stupidity."

"Whoa." Gerald stopped in his tracks. "Hold on, let's backtrack a second. You think _Arnold_ has had a sweet spot for _Helga_ all this time? I was under the impression it was mostly the other way around until _this_ happened." He pointed again towards the trees.

"When you're a quiet person, you tend to observe things."

"Phoebe, you amaze me sometimes."

"You've already said that," Phoebe grinned.

"It deserves repeating. Let's give Romeo and Juliet a wide berth—I don't want to see any of that."

"They're just _walking_, Gerald." Phoebe rolled her eyes.

"So are we." He leaned down to kiss her cheek and she giggled.

"You have convinced me, let's not disturb them." She started pulling him in the opposite direction.

"Hey Phoebe?" This question was more sober in the warm summer sun.

"Yes, Gerald?"

"D'you think it'll last? Them, I mean. I already know _we're_ going to be together forever." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Phoebe laughed. "Well, I imagine they will be quite happy together."

"Even through college? I don't know, babe. They picked an inconvenient time to get started."

"There'll be bumps in the road, certainly. But just look at them, Gerald."

"Yeah. I can see it too."

Phoebe was always right.


End file.
